


under your skin

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:18:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2841116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac loses a bet he made with Bahorel and it turns out to be the best thing he's ever done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	under your skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefaceofno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefaceofno/gifts).



> For Jay, who requested "5+1 times Combeferre writes on Courfeyrac's skin" and said it could be interpreted any way I like, so I interpreted it very loosely. Hope you like it! :D

It occurs to Courfeyrac that maybe he shouldn't be so excited about losing a bet. Especially to Bahorel, of all people, who has the uncanny ability of knowing exactly which way to wager and exactly what to say to make people take him up on his bets in the first place. 

In all reality, Courfeyrac probably should have learned not to take Bahorel's bets two and a half years ago, back when Bahorel had pointed at a tree and said, _bet you can't climb that_ and the entire thing resulted in Courfeyrac breaking his arm. Yet, here he is, having lost yet another bet, grinning from ear to ear because of it. 

"This was a win-win situation for you all along," Bahorel says, not sounding the least bit surprised. "Either you don't manage to charm your way out of those library fines and win the bet, or you walk away not having to pay anything at all for those books that were overdue by a month, even if you end up losing the bet." 

"And like you said," Courfeyrac replies, barely resisting the urge to bounce where he's standing. "If I lose the bet…"

"You have to stop talking about how you want to get a tattoo and _actually get one_ ," Bahorel finishes for him. He pats Courfeyrac on the head as they walk. "It'll be fun, trust me. I told Jehan about our bet and they told me to bring you around after you lose if you wanted to talk things through. Because let's face it, we all knew that you were going to lose."

"I didn't," Courfeyrac mumbles, as he lets Bahorel lead the way to his apartment. 

"Well, that's because you're modest, which is a good thing. It also means that it's really fucking easy to make bets that you're going to lose." 

Courfeyrac grumbles, but he truly doesn't mind. After realising that Courfeyrac will go through with the terms of their bets, no matter what they might be, Bahorel has learned to be a little more careful with them. It's not really about anything beyond trying to _win_ a bet he makes with Bahorel and Courfeyrac knows that it's going to happen one day, he'll get there, but he doesn't really mind the fact that it's not today. 

Jehan has a bowl of freshly cookies waiting for them on the coffee table and smiles at Courfeyrac when he walks into the apartment. "You don't look too upset about losing your bet. I wonder why that might be."

"I'm a lot more nervous about this than I look," Courfeyrac replies, helping himself to a cookie. "I don't even know where to start with getting a tattoo and I'm not even sure I know what I want."

"Well, that's why I brought you here, isn't it?" Bahorel pats Courfeyrac on the back. "I mean, if Jehan and I didn't have enough experience with tattoos between the two of us, there's the fact that our other partner is an actual tattoo artist."

Courfeyrac has met Feuilly a handful of times over the past few years, but never for long and definitely not nearly often enough, for being the third part of a relationship that two of his close friends are in. He knows that Feuilly works a lot, and he's certain that he's been told that Feuilly mainly works as a tattoo artist, but it hasn't really occurred to him until just now.

"He should be home from work in a few minutes," Jehan says, smiling at Courfeyrac and standing up. "Why don't you stay for a bit and have a chat with him? I'll make us some coffee while we wait."

Courfeyrac knows that Feuilly does watercolour tattoos and that he's the one who did the piece that goes down Jehan's right arm, a half-sleeve of flowers turning into birds. Bahorel's tattoos are of a completely different style, more heavily patterned with blackwork, as a nod to his Polynesian roots. Courfeyrac isn't sure if Feuilly or any of the tattoo artists he works with did Bahorel's tattoos, because he's had them for as long as they've known each other, but he appreciates the detail and skill that has gone into them all the same, just as he does with Jehan's tattoos.

They're sitting on the couch with their coffee and cookies when the door opens, and Jehan looks up with a smile. "That should be Feuilly coming home now."

Sure enough, a head of bright orange hair pokes through the door, followed by a tall, gangly man who is wrapped in a light scarf and a long jacket. Feuilly looks just the same as he does the last time Courfeyrac saw him, if not a little more tired, but he smiles at all three of them in greeting all the same.

"Hey Courfeyrac. Long time no see. Jehan told me that you might drop by this afternoon. Something to do with a bet you lost?"

Courfeyrac looks over at Bahorel, bursting into laughter. "Did you tell _everyone_? Enjolras even sent me a text earlier saying that he heard that I'd made another bet with you that I was probably going to lose, and not to break any more bones."

"Man, that was the _one time_ ," Bahorel replies, shaking his head. "I was the one who had to put up with you whining the entire time while it was healing anyway, not him."

"Actually," Jehan corrects, "that was me."

"Semantics. I was over at your place all the time then anyway," Bahorel wraps his arm around Jehan's shoulders, pulling them close to kiss their cheek before getting up and walking to the kitchen, gesturing for Feuilly to sit down on the couch. "But yeah, I maybe told everyone that you were going to lose a bet and end up with a tattoo. We also decided that it meant we'd invite you over so you could talk to the master himself."

Feuilly's freckled cheeks turn red surprisingly quickly and he ducks his head in embarrassment. "Please don't call me that. I'm really not."

"But he _is_ very good at what he does," Jehan supplies. "I remember when I want to get my first tattoo, I had a lot of questions that Feuilly could answer for me and it made the entire process a lot more comfortable."

"What kind of tattoo are you thinking of getting?" Feuilly asks, gratefully taking the mug of coffee that Bahorel hands to him as he returns to the couch. 

"That's the thing," Courfeyrac says with a sheepish smile. "I don't actually know? Something small, maybe. I just know that I want a tattoo. Sorry, I wish I was better prepared for this."

"It's absolutely fine." Feuilly reaches into his backpack and pulls out his tablet, unlocking it and opening his browser. "We have a few different artists at our place that do distinctly different styles. I could show you a few, if you like, and you can see if any of them appeal to you? I mean, we've had several clients coming in not really knowing what they want until they've looked through our book of designs, or spoken to an artist to get an idea."

"That might help," Courfeyrac agrees, leaning over to have a look at the screen of the tablet as Feuilly navigates to the gallery section of the tattoo studio's website. 

The first artist Courfeyrac sees does traditional western tattoos, some with colour and some without, but none of the designs really move him. The next works more heavily with script, which is not something that Courfeyrac is very interested in at all, so Feuilly scrolls past his pictures. The next artist that comes up works exclusively in greyscale and has a sketchy style, with rough lines that look like pencil taken to skin, rather than ink. Courfeyrac loves it and it must show on his face, because Feuilly chuckles quietly.

"Yeah, Combeferre is pretty popular at our studio," he says quietly. "He's a pretty great guy though. Pretty thorough, so he likes consulting with clients before he does anything. I could introduce you at some point, if you wanted? He's working tomorrow so if you can drop by at some point, I'll let him know when to expect you."

"Or…" Jehan speaks up. "Tomorrow is Bahorel's gym night so you could make introductions after work? I'm meeting you at the studio anyway after you finish. Courfeyrac could just meet us there and you could introduce him to Combeferre then? Gives them more time to talk without having to deal with other customers that are also waiting."

"Yeah," Feuilly nods. "Combeferre and I both finish at six tomorrow. Think you'll be free then?"

"Definitely." Courfeyrac grins. "I'll see you then."

«·»

It's five minutes to six and Courfeyrac is stuck on the metro. He's one stop away from his station, so it's not an absolute disaster, it just feels like one anyway. He hasn't had the time to get home after finishing up at work so his hair is a mess, he's sure that the food that was spilled on his jeans hasn't completely come out despite his best efforts, he feels short of breath already and he knows that once the train gets to his stop, he's going to have to run to the tattoo studio if he has any hope of meeting Jehan and Feuilly before they give up on him and leave.

There's also the fact that his phone is out of battery, so he can't even tell Jehan any of this or ask to reschedule to another time, and right now, Courfeyrac feels like a walking disaster. Not the best first impression he wants to be giving anyone, let alone someone who might end up designing something that is going to be tattooed onto his skin permanently. 

Then, finally, the train reaches the station and Courfeyrac get out, pushing past the crowd as gently as he can, apologising left right and centre as he goes, getting out of the station entirely and pausing for a moment to read the street signs and reorient himself before breaking into a run. 

He's getting weird looks for it and he knows, but he can't quite bring himself to care when he still has another four blocks to go and he's already five minutes late. 

When he gets to the tattoo studio, Jehan is standing outside, arms folded, alternating between tapping their foot and checking their phone. They relax the moment they spot Courfeyrac, walking towards him.

"I've been trying to call you," Jehan tells him, sounding concerned.

"Phone ran out of battery," Courfeyrac says, panting loudly. He doubles over, bracing his hands on his knees as he gasps for breath. "Fuck, I've had the worst day ever. Sorry I'm late."

"It's fine," Jehan tells him. "You're not even late. The guys take a while to close up the studio at the end of the day anyway. They should be out any time now, though."

Sure enough, the front door of the studio opens and Feuilly walks out, followed by what is possibly the most gorgeous human being Courfeyrac has ever laid his eyes on. His skin is brown, but light enough that the black ink that goes down both his arms is incredibly noticeable. He's tall, with an undercut and thick-framed glasses, and he's watching Courfeyrac with mild concern.

"Are you alright?" he asks and fuck, his voice is deep and wonderful and Courfeyrac doesn't know whether or not to hope that this is Combeferre because he isn't quite sure he can survive an in-depth conversation with him, especially not after the long day he's had. Before Courfeyrac can even respond, he reaches into his satchel and pulls out a bottle of water. "Here. It's unopened, in case that bothers you."

"I'm fine," Courfeyrac replies, standing up properly. "I have my own bottle anyway, but thank you."

"So, this is Combeferre," Feuilly says, and Courfeyrac _still_ isn't sure whether or not that's a good thing. "And this is Courfeyrac, as I told you earlier."

"It's good to meet you Courfeyrac," Combeferre says, offering him a hand to shake.

"Likewise." Courfeyrac smiles at him, glad that he's at least regained some of his breath now.

"Feuilly and I have date night," Jehan tells them, linking their arm with their partner's. "We'll have to head off to make sure that we don't miss our reservation. We'll see you two later? I hope it goes well!"

Courfeyrac nods, waving as they leave, before turning to Combeferre.

"I don't usually eat dinner until later," Combeferre says with a small shrug. "But there are plenty of good cafés around, if you want to get some coffee and sit down?"

"Sitting down sounds really good," Courfeyrac replies, nodding. 

Combeferre smiles at him, leading the way down the street. "You've had a long day, haven't you?" 

"Back to back shifts at the respite centre where I do casual work," Courfeyrac replies. "Had to cover another staff member who suddenly fell sick. I don't think anyone was in a particularly good mood today, so that made things extra challenging."

"Respite centre?" Combeferre asks, sounding curious. "What kind?"

"Moderate to severe intellectual disabilities, which is actually kind of broad, I guess." Courfeyrac runs his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face as he thinks. "It varies between people, really. The group that I take care of are mostly non-verbal. I've got two in wheelchairs but the others walk and they can all be a handful sometimes, but they're great."

"That's pretty awesome," Combeferre murmurs, genuinely impressed, and at least that makes Courfeyrac feel a little less shabby next to him. He usually hates taking compliments on his line of work because it makes him feel awkward, but Combeferre doesn't make a big deal out of it, which Courfeyrac appreciates. 

The first café they try is a little too full, but they find a pair of comfortable couches by the window of the second café that they settle into and by the time their drinks arrive, they've already found that they get along well. Combeferre is intelligent, with a witty sense of humour that has Courfeyrac covering his mouth so he doesn't laugh too loudly, and the moment that Courfeyrac takes a close enough look to realise that the tattoo sleeve on Combeferre's right arm is of the planets and their orbital patterns, they make fast friends. 

Combeferre is a lot easier to speak to than Courfeyrac thought, and they barely talk about tattoos at all because they're much too busy learning about each other and sharing stories. Combeferre has always been interested in art, but he's just as interested in science and he talks about how he was originally thinking about going to university to study either physics or medicine before he ended up becoming a tattoo artist.

"I'm glad you're doing what you do," Courfeyrac tells him. "You're amazing at it, from the pictures that I saw on the website."

Combeferre grins, looking both pleased and embarrassed by the compliment. "I'm glad you think so, considering that I'll be designing your tattoo." 

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm going to love whatever you come up with," Courfeyrac tells him honestly. "I don't really have any real idea in mind, so I'm happy to go with whatever you think would work."

"Feuilly already told you that I like consulting with my clients beforehand, and that's because when I design something for them, I want to make sure that it suits them as much as possible. Most of the time, they have some kind of idea of what they want already in their heads and we can work from there, but having free reign to design whatever I want is a pretty big responsibility and I take it seriously. The better I know you, the easier it will be for me to come up with something that you'll like, that you'll want to keep on you permanently."

Courfeyrac nods, hoping that he's not being too obvious about the utter awe he feels. "Yeah. That sounds amazing." 

Even despite Combeferre's interest in hearing about him, Courfeyrac doesn't feel like he reveals all that much. He spends most of his time talking about his friends and sharing stories of what they've done together. At one point, he reaches for his phone to show Combeferre his instagram account with pictures of them all together, before remembering that his phone is flat.

"Here," Combeferre says, handing his phone over instead, open to his own party app. "You can show me on my phone instead." 

Combeferre already knows Bahorel and Jehan, and he listens to Courfeyrac point out the rest of his friends too, starting with Enjolras, then Marius, then Joly and Bossuet and Grantaire, and he's surprised when Combeferre remembers their names and recalls stories that Courfeyrac's already told him about them, matching each story to each face and humming quietly, like he suddenly understands something deeper. 

It takes a bit of self-control for Courfeyrac to remember that this is a consultation, not a date. He buys their second round of coffee anyway, because he's still exhausted and Combeferre's beginning to look like his day of work is beginning to take its toll too. He waves off Combeferre's attempts to pay him back and somewhere between trying to decide whether they want food and good-natured bickering over who would pay for it, they get into a conversation about a sci-fi movie that comes out next week that none of their other friends want to go to. 

"Enjolras would go with me, but only because I asked, and then he wouldn't say anything late but I know he'd spend the entire time fretting over the work that he could have been doing instead," Courfeyrac sighs. "Joly and Bossuet are going with their girlfriend, because she's the biggest sci-fi fan I know, and I don't really want to be the… fourth wheel. Does fourth wheel even make sense? You know what I mean—"

"I know what you mean," Combeferre assures him, laughing softly. "We could go together? I moved into Paris not long ago, and I haven't really had the chance to make many friends outside of the people I work with, so…"

"Combeferre," Courfeyrac says solemnly. "You're my new sci-fi buddy. It's official. Too late to back out now."

Laughing again, Combeferre nods. "Okay. Sounds good to me."

"Here, give me your number—" Courfeyrac begins, before he groans. "Wait, no. My battery is dead." 

"You could give me your number?" Combeferre suggests, picking up his own phone.

Courfeyrac begins to, but pauses when he realises that he's getting it mixed up with his work mobile from the law firm he's doing part-time work with. "Nope. My brain's well and truly fried today, I don't think any amount of coffee is going to fix that."

"Alright then," Combeferre says, reaching into his bag and pulling out a marker, which he uncaps with his teeth. "Give me your arm."

"Huh?" Courfeyrac asks, even as he does.

Scrawling a number over the inside of Courfeyrac's wrist, Combeferre caps his pen again and puts it away with a satisfied smile. "There. Now you have my number. Text me when you've charged your phone, okay?"

"Oh," Courfeyrac breathes, his skin still tingling from the light touch of the marker, and the lighter touch of Combeferre's fingers holding his arm still. "Yeah. Good idea."

«·»

The frequent text messages they send each other aren't a big deal. The in-jokes that they start to share aren't a big deal. The smiley faces that Combeferre puts at the end of his message about how he's looking forward to watching the movie with Courfeyrac aren't a big deal.

None of it's a big deal, and Courfeyrac firmly reminds himself of that as he gets ready to meet Combeferre that weekend for the movie, as planned. He just happens to be friends with the hottest guy to ever exist. No big deal at all.

The thing is, as much as Courfeyrac has been looking forward to the movie itself, it's disappointing. It's slow, it's boring, and it makes Courfeyrac feel much too aware of the fact that he's sitting in a dark room beside Combeferre for two and a half hours. At some point, they happen to make eye contact and Combeferre leans over so that their shoulders are touching.

"Not what you were expecting?"

"Not at all," Courfeyrac sighs. "Glad I didn't bring Enjolras to this one."

"I'd be regretting bringing myself to this, if not for the company," Combeferre murmurs. "But you know how I'd fix the plot…"

Combeferre spends the next few minutes outlining his version of the plot, then where he'd go with the rest of the story, and ends it with a twist so unexpected and so ridiculous that it makes Courfeyrac burst into laughter. He's promptly shushed by the people around him and he whispers an apology, hands clamped over his mouth in an effort to muffle his laughter.

"And then there's a spin-off with the robots," Combeferre adds, and it sets Courfeyrac off again, his shoulders shaking as he tries to stop giggling but for some reason, it only makes him laugh harder. Combeferre is chuckling beside him, evidently enjoying this just as much, and that only makes Courfeyrac laugh even more.

Which is how they get kicked out of the cinema roughly halfway through the movie. Courfeyrac finds that he doesn't really mind, especially not with the way that Combeferre is still grinning and looking far too pleased with himself.

"So," Combeferre says, clearing his throat once they've finally gotten the laughter out of their systems. "I have a sketchbook and a tattoo design you might be interested in?"

"Oh!" Courfeyrac's eyes go wide with excitement. "Awesome. Do you want to find another café to sit in? We're not too far away from one of my favourite places."

"Lead the way," Combeferre says, falling into step with Courfeyrac as he does.

They eat lunch first and Courfeyrac can barely hide his anticipation the entire time, because he knows that once they're done, Combeferre is going to show him the tattoo design. He eats quickly and even if Combeferre is amused by it, he makes no comment. Then, they're finally settling down with their drinks and Combeferre clears his throat.

"I came up with a design that I thought would suit you. It's a bit too big for what you wanted, to be honest. As much as I like it, I wouldn't recommend getting it as your first tattoo."

"Can I see anyway?" Courfeyrac asks, grinning because Combeferre is already pulling his sketchbook out of his bag and opening it up.

The sketch is breathtaking. The main feature of it is a wispy fox, its face and front legs solid and the rest of its body fading away into swirling smoke. The smoke curls around other animals; Courfeyrac sees the faces of a bird, a cat, a dog, a rabbit, and he knows what it all means without having to ask but he looks up all the same, smiling as Combeferre clears his throat.

"I try to match my designs to my clients' personalities and I found that to be pretty easy with you. Whenever I talk to you, I'm always struck with just how much your friends mean to you. I had to find a way of representing that in my design."

"So I'm the fox." It isn't a question because it doesn't need to be. Combeferre laughs in reply, sounding genuinely delighted.

"You like it, then."

"I love it," Courfeyrac says seriously. "It's a beautiful piece of art and I wish it wasn't too big to be what I'm looking for. I'm kind of tempted to psych myself up to get a big tattoo like this done, instead of something smaller."

"How about this," Combeferre says, carefully tearing the page out of his sketchbook and handing it over to Courfeyrac. "You keep the sketch, and I'll show you the smaller design I came up with for you."

"You'd let me keep this?" Courfeyrac asks, staring at the page in awe.

"I designed it for you anyway." Combeferre shrugs. "It's yours."

"I'm going to frame it," Courfeyrac decides, then hesitates, realising that he doesn't have anywhere to keep the picture safe.

"I'll keep it back in my sketchbook for now," Combeferre says. "I can walk you home later and give it back to you then?"

"Sounds great," Courfeyrac beams. "So, you said you designed something smaller as well?" 

"Yeah." Combeferre turns the page and shows Courfeyrac a smaller design. 

This one is of a sun. It's a circle, with straight rays coming from it, all of them different lengths. It looks geometric, with clean lines and it's the perfect size.

"I love it," Courfeyrac tells him. "It's just… different to your usual style, isn't it? Not that I'm saying it's a problem because _wow_ , this is actually pretty perfect and I'm loving it the more I'm looking at it."

"It's a long story," Combeferre sighs, and then takes a sip of his coffee. "Okay, it's not _that_ long, but back when I was first getting properly into art, I always thought that I'd stick to this kind of style. Clean, even lines and everything. I used to draw on grid paper, so it'd be easier to keep things geometric. I liked it a lot, but then I started trying different art styles and I found that sketching was actually my favourite. This sort of style is still pretty special to me and I always told myself that when I started designing tattoos, I'd find the right person and the right design to come up with something as a sort of throwback to who I used to be and how far I've come since then. And uh… then I met you."

"Oh," Courfeyrac says softly, and he'd struggle to meet Combeferre's eyes if not for the fact that Combeferre is very pointedly not looking at him at all. "That's pretty special. I… I feel honoured."

Combeferre rubs his hand over his face. "Shit, this isn't me forcing my design on you, okay? Just so we're clear. You wanted me to design something because you like my usual style and if you want me to do something else—"

"Combeferre," Courfeyrac interrupts, reaching across the table and taking hold of his wrist. "Shut up. It's fine. This is _great_. I loved the design before you told me the background to it and now I love it even more. I want it."

With a relieved sigh, Combeferre smiles. "Great. Well, Feuilly and I made a booking for you when he first told me about you, because I've got a bit of a waiting list. I can change it around for you if it doesn't work, but next Saturday morning?"

"Perfect," Courfeyrac replies, and the excitement truly hits him, making it impossible for him to hold back his grin. "That sounds great."

«·»

"So it's healed now?" Enjolras asks, looking at the tattoo on Courfeyrac's forearm. "It looks good."

"It's amazing and I love it so much," Courfeyrac replies, beaming. He touches the edge of his tattoo with the tip of his finger and feels brave enough to touch it properly. He's already sent a photo of it to Combeferre and been given the okay, but he's still a little cautious. 

Enjolras smiles at him. "Not as terrifying as you thought it would be?"

"Not at all!" Courfeyrac is still a little surprised about that. It didn't hurt as much as he'd expected it to but more than that, he's still not over the fact that he _liked_ the way it felt. Combeferre has assured him that many people do and it's not actually that strange at all. 

"And your tattoo artist," Enjolras continues. "Combeferre? It sounded like you made good friends with him. Are you going to continue spending time with him now that your tattoo's done? He sounds like an interesting person and I don't think you've stopped talking about him since you first met him. It would be a shame for you to stop seeing him."

Courfeyrac laughs. "Are you encouraging me to spend time with him, Enjolras? Is that what this is?"

Enjolras shrugs. "It sounds like you like him."

Courfeyrac deflates at that. "I _do_. I really, really do. Have you got any idea how difficult and conflicting it is to be really into someone but also want to be close friends with them?"

"Um," Enjolras pointedly indicates the black ring on his middle finger. "No?"

"Well, it's horrible," Courfeyrac tells him. "And I do want to spend more time with Combeferre. He asked me to come into the studio today so he could take a proper picture of my tattoo, so he can decide if he wants to put it up in his part of the gallery on the studio's website. I was thinking of inviting him to dinner or something then, but _we're_ going to dinner tonight and—"

"Invite him anyway," Enjolras shrugs. "I'd like to meet him at some point, and perhaps this way you won't feel as awkward about inviting him somewhere because I'll be there too? So neither of you get confused about the boundaries of your friendship at the moment and can just enjoy getting to know each other better."

"You're the _best_ best friend in the world," Courfeyrac declares, hugging him tightly. "Just so you know. I'm going to go see Combeferre now, in that case. I'm sure he'll be glad to meet you too."

Unsurprisingly, dinner goes wonderfully. Combeferre clicks with Enjolras just as easily as he did with Courfeyrac and the three of them sit at the restaurant for hours, engrossed in their conversation before one of the waiters pointedly tells them that they're about to close. From there, they move to Enjolras and Courfeyrac's apartment and Combeferre looks both pleased and embarrassed to find that Courfeyrac has actually followed through on his promise to frame the sketch that Combeferre did. 

The couch is a comfortable size for all three of them to fit onto and Courfeyrac leaves Enjolras and Combeferre to talk as he goes to the kitchen and makes coffee for them. As he returns carrying their mugs on a tray, Enjolras bursts into laughter and Combeferre is sitting there looking awkward and embarrassed.

"What did I miss?" Courfeyrac asks, handing the coffee mugs out before sitting down in between Enjolras and Combeferre.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh so much," Enjolras says, clearing his throat. "It's just that Combeferre asked if we were dating and… no. We're definitely not. I'm aromantic and asexual. Courfeyrac is very much single at the moment."

Courfeyrac feels his cheeks burning, because he knows Enjolras well enough to pick up on the light hinting tone in his voice. He isn't sure if Combeferre's picked up on it himself, but doesn't dare to look over and see for himself.

"…Oh, I see," Combeferre says softly, and it sounds significant, it sounds like something that Courfeyrac should perhaps do something about, but he doesn't know what to say or what to do.

"Ah, I think I got distracted before, but I was meaning to tell you," Enjolras says, before the silence can stretch on long enough to become awkward. "There's a group of us who regularly meet up at the Musain, not far from here, on Tuesdays and Fridays. Sometimes we just meet to catch up and sometimes we discuss policies that we don't particularly agree with. We've been considering the thought of perhaps getting more involved in activism lately, but we haven't gotten anywhere with that yet. Even if that doesn't particularly interest you—"

"No, it does," Combeferre says earnestly, nodding. "Definitely. I mean, Feuilly and I talk about it a bit in between working too. His partners are in your group, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Enjolras smiles. "So if you feel like joining us, you'll have a few familiar faces already."

"Sounds good. Every Tuesday and Friday? Don't know if I'd be able to make it every week because it depends on my roster, but I'll definitely try. Your friends sound pretty great, from what I've heard about them from Courfeyrac anyway. It'll be great to meet them all."

Combeferre stays a little longer, until it's past midnight and he checks his watch, swearing as he notices the time. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you up so late. Courfeyrac, you have a shift at the respite centre tomorrow don't you? You should have kicked me out and gone to bed ages ago."

"You're working tomorrow too," Courfeyrac points out, laughing. "Don't think that's escaped my attention either."

"See you on Tuesday then?" Combeferre asks, looking at both Courfeyrac and Enjolras.

"Definitely. We'll be there and I hope that you will too. Bring Feuilly, if he isn't rushing off to one of his other jobs."

"I'll try," Combeferre replies, smiling. "You know him, though. No promises. You might just have to settle for me."

"There'd be no settling involved, trust me," Courfeyrac assures him. "Now, go and get some sleep so you're not completely exhausted tomorrow."

"I will if you will," Combeferre murmurs, bending to hug Courfeyrac goodbye before shaking hands with Enjolras.

"What was that?" Enjolras asks, as Courfeyrac shuts the door.

"He hugged me," Courfeyrac whispers. "He _hugged_ me, Enjolras."

"Is this a good thing?" Enjolras asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe? I don't know? But you—you invited Combeferre to hang out with us, which means that we're going to see him regularly. Have I mentioned that you're the best friend anyone could ever ask for?"

Enjolras chuckles, gathering their empty mugs and carrying them to the kitchen. "You might have. I'm glad you're happy, Courfeyrac."

«·»

In the two months that pass, Combeferre becomes a permanent addition to their circle of friends. He remains closest with Courfeyrac and Enjolras and between the three of them, they start working out a way to do more of the activism that Enjolras wants to be involved in. He feels like a piece of a puzzle that neither Courfeyrac nor Enjolras were looking for, but fits perfectly with them anyway, making them better, making their ideas seem achievable.

Courfeyrac's attraction to Combeferre doesn't go away. It's frustrating, because he still can't read Combeferre at all. They're close and they're both very tactile with each other, but Courfeyrac isn't quite sure if he's overthinking the fond looks that Combeferre gives him, or the way they'll go out of their way to sit beside each other, or the fact that they've become so comfortable with each other that they'll stay over at each other's apartments until it's too late to bother going home and will sleep on each other's couch instead.

They're sprawled on Courfeyrac's couch while Enjolras is at work one afternoon when Courfeyrac clears his throat and turns his head to look at Combeferre. "I'm thinking of maybe getting another tattoo."

Combeferre raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? You want to talk about designs?"

"That one," Courfeyrac says, pointing at the framed sketch on the wall, of the wispy fox that Combeferre first designed for him. "I want it tattooed on me."

Combeferre sits up properly, "Oh. Where were you thinking of getting it?"

Sitting up as well, Courfeyrac shrugs. "Where do you think it would work?"

"Well," Combeferre pauses in thought. "I think it would look good on your side."

Combeferre's fingers twitch, as if he's about to reach out and trace where the tattoo goes. Courfeyrac doesn't think he would be able to deal with that, let alone deal with actually getting Combeferre to tattoo it onto his side. 

"I'm ticklish," he says quickly, using the first excuse he can come up with. "And… I don't know. I wouldn't get to show it off as much if it was always under my shirt."

That makes Combeferre laugh. "What about your upper arm, then? Not your right arm, because that's where your sun is, but I think it would look good on your left arm. Do you want me to book you in now? I can do it from my phone. You might have to wait a couple of weeks though, if that's okay?"

"That's fine," Courfeyrac replies. "It'll be worth the wait."

As much as Courfeyrac thinks that he's ready for the wait, and for the actual tattoo itself, he has absolutely no idea. The closer he gets to the day, the more excited he gets. Bahorel is utterly amused by it, watching as Courfeyrac gets jittery with anticipation.

"I knew this would happen," Bahorel tells him gleefully. "I don't know anyone who's just stopped at one tattoo. They're addictive, man. And that design Combeferre did for you looks amazing. Can't wait to see what it looks like on your arm."

Then the day comes and Courfeyrac gets to the studio to be greeted by Combeferre, who grins at him knowingly. "Shall we?"

Courfeyrac has to take his shirt off this time, and the chair is cold when he settles into it, but he's distracted by the way Combeferre very pointedly holds his gaze, like he's too afraid to look anywhere else. It makes Courfeyrac want to tell him that he's perfectly welcome to look, but then Combeferre starts getting Courfeyrac's arm ready and another wave of anticipation hits, making it difficult to focus on anything else. 

That needle takes a couple of minutes to get used to but after that, Courfeyrac is fine. He lies there and watches as Combeferre works, and Combeferre doesn't even notice until he's finished doing the outline of the tattoo and looks up. 

"Hey," Courfeyrac whispers with a small smile.

"Hey yourself. How are you doing?"

"Good." Courfeyrac can feel the adrenaline coursing through him and he's trying to ignore the fact that his pants feel a little tight because _nope_ , that isn't happening, and he's going to ignore it until it _stops_ happening. "You?"

Combeferre huffs out a soft laugh. "Also good. I'm going to change needles, okay? Back in a sec."

When he returns, he starts on the shading. It's a new feeling to Courfeyrac, but it's not particularly bad either. He tries to shift position without moving too much, because he's still half-hard and that doesn't seem to be changing any time soon. The last thing he wants is for Combeferre to notice. He doesn't even want to think about the potential awkwardness it would bring, especially when they've gotten to a point in their friendship where they're incredibly comfortable with each other.

He manages to hold himself together until the tattoo's done, which is nothing short of a miracle. The tattoo looks _beautiful_ and he doesn't hesitate to tell Combeferre as much, which earns him an embarrassed grin.

"Alright, let me wrap you up," Combeferre says, going through the usual aftercare instructions as he does so, giving Courfeyrac a printed set of instructions too. He hesitates for a moment before clearing his throat. "I have two consecutive days off in a few weeks. Sunday and Monday, if you're free…?"

"Those are my usual days off," Courfeyrac replies. "You know what this means."

"Lord of the Rings marathon?" Combeferre asks hopefully. "Extended editions? I haven't had the time to do that yet and I've been meaning to for years now."

"Extended Lord of the Rings marathon," Courfeyrac confirms. "My place or yours?"

"Mine," Combeferre decides. "You can stay the night if you want, too. We can iron out the plans later, but this is happening" 

"You bet it is," Courfeyrac grins. "Also, Enjolras wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow night."

"I'll see you then. Your tattoo should heal just fine, but you've got my number if anything comes up." Combeferre clears his throat and gives Courfeyrac a small smile. "Or, you know. If you feel like texting. I like it when I finish up my shift and get to my phone to find you've sent me a bunch of messages."

"I'll keep that in mind," Courfeyrac promises. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

«·»

Their Lord of the Rings marathon starts off with a giant bowl of popcorn and the TV getting their undivided attention. They last until about an hour into The Two Towers before their attention starts to wander. Courfeyrac gets up to get them both drinks and by the time he returns, he finds Combeferre with his sketchbook out and his markers on the couch cushion beside him.

"Are you designing for new clients?" Courfeyrac asks, putting their cans down on the coffee table beside them. 

"Not really," Combeferre replies, reaching for his can and taking a sip before continuing. "It's just that every time I watch Lord of the Rings films, I'm always inspired to just _make_ something. I've been toying with the idea of incorporating colour into my designs for a while now, and I'm trying to figure out how to start with that. I like my style and it lends itself well to greyscale. If I put colour in, I kind of want it to be a subtle thing. Just a hint of colour here or there. Maybe I can ease my way into doing full-colour pieces from there."

"Well, I'm already excited to see what you come up with," Courfeyrac tells him. "I know that it's going to look great."

Combeferre smiles at him warmly. "I appreciate that." 

The movie keeps going and Combeferre goes back to sketching, but Courfeyrac finds that he's watching Combeferre more than he's watching the TV screen. He'll still glance up for his favourite bits and Combeferre will do the same, but then their gazes will drop back to Combeferre's sketchbook. 

Courfeyrac realises that Combeferre's having trouble with his sketch long before he puts his marker down with an irritated huff. Courfeyrac is already handing Combeferre his can so he can have a drink. "What's up?"

"I'm just not really sold on what I'm doing here," Combeferre sighs. "It's one thing to see it on the page but I have no idea if these colours would work as well as they do when they're on skin."

"Alright then," Courfeyrac decides. "Use me, instead of your sketchbook. Draw it on me and see if the colours work that way."

Combeferre hesitates. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am." Courfeyrac wants to kick himself, but he doesn't let that show. "It'll be fine. Where do want to draw it on me?"

"Uh." Combeferre looks down at his sketchbook, his expression twisting into a frown as he thinks. "Would you be comfortable with me drawing on your chest? If you're not…"

"It's absolutely fine," Courfeyrac says. "It's okay, everyone has strong feelings about my amazing chest." 

Combeferre coughs, looking embarrassed, averting his eyes when Courfeyrac pulls his shirt off. The thing is, Courfeyrac _knows_ that his chest is nice. He goes to the gym, he waxes when he feels the need to, and he takes pride in how he looks. He rolls his shirt into a ball and puts it aside and watches as Combeferre turns to him. Combeferre is biting his lip and his gaze rakes over Courfeyrac's torso so slowly that it almost makes him feel like he's being devoured. Combeferre's eyes are dark when they meet Courfeyrac's and he coughs again. 

"Right. I don't really have the right kind of chair here, but maybe if you sit on the coffee table in front of me, that should work," Combeferre picks up the remote and pauses the movie. "I'll pause so we don't miss anything."

"Keep it going," Courfeyrac tells him, taking the remote out of Combeferre's hands and hitting play. "Makes for good background noise. And come on, I'm pretty sure I know you well enough to know that you've got these movies memorised."

Combeferre grins, gathering his markers together as Courfeyrac sits on the coffee table. "Yeah, okay. This might tickle a bit."

"If I can handle needles, I'm pretty sure I can handle markers," Courfeyrac replies confidently. "What are you going to draw?"

"A bird," Combeferre replies, setting his sketchbook on the table beside where Courfeyrac is sitting, where he's already done a rough sketch. "I thought I'd make the tail feathers long and put the colour into them."

"Sounds good," Courfeyrac murmurs, resting his hands on the table to keep him still. 

As it turns out, markers are a completely different sensation to tattoo needles. The feather-light touch of the marker nibs as Combeferre sketches out the bird itself are ticklish. It takes all of Courfeyrac's self-control not to twitch or giggle, and he sits there with his hands balled into fists and his lip between his teeth. Combeferre looks up at him once he's done doing the main sketch and laughs.

"What?" Courfeyrac asks, embarrassed.

" _If I can handle needles, I'm pretty sure I can handle markers_ ," Combeferre quotes at him.

"Shut up," Courfeyrac mutters, but he's laughing now too. "I told you I'm ticklish."

"I'm going to do the shading now," Combeferre tells him. "That's probably going to tickle even more."

It does, but Courfeyrac does his best not to show it. The colour in the tail feathers is even worse, because Combeferre's strokes are light and hesitant as he tries to figure out the best place to put them. When Combeferre finally pulls away, declaring that he's done, Courfeyrac dissolves into a fit of laughter that he's been holding back and it takes a moment before Combeferre is joining him, both of them bent towards each other and laughing until they have tears in the corners of their eyes.

"The bird looks good on you," Combeferre murmurs. "Unsurprisingly."

"Unsurprisingly," Courfeyrac echoes. "Because you're the one who did it."

Combeferre smiles up at him and there's only so much of this that Courfeyrac can take. Embarrassing and inappropriate boners in the middle of a tattoo session are one thing. Being breathless after barely fifteen minutes of Combeferre focusing on drawing a bird onto his chest and touching his bare skin? This is ridiculous. This is unnecessary and unwelcome and—

"Courfeyrac…" Combeferre says quietly and his voice is lower than usual. He clears his throat adjusts his glasses and his hand hovers, like he's not sure what to do with it.

In a sudden moment of clarity, Courfeyrac reaches for it. He links their fingers together, revelling in the warmth of Combeferre's hand against his. His fingers are thicker than Courfeyrac's, longer, and they close around Courfeyrac's hand, squeezing gently. 

"Can I kiss you?" Courfeyrac asks, and he's glad that his voice is even, that it doesn't shake with nerves.

"Yeah," Combeferre breathes. "You definitely can."

They lean towards each other, their lips a light pressure against each other until Combeferre pulls away, sucking in a deep breath and leaning in again to kiss Courfeyrac harder. Courfeyrac's hands rest on Combeferre's shoulders, keeping him close, and he jumps in surprise at the feeling of Combeferre's hands on his bare sides, but then they slide over his back and pull him even closer as they deepen their kiss. 

"Wanted to do that since the first time I met you," Combeferre murmurs against Courfeyrac's lips. "We were sitting in that café and I couldn't stop thinking about how you were the most beautiful, intelligent, funniest person I'd ever met."

"I was thinking that about you," Courfeyrac replies, his fingers going to Combeferre's hair. They kiss again before Courfeyrac continues, "I was a mess that first day I met you and _you_ were the most gorgeous person I've ever seen. You still are."

Combeferre kisses him again, pulling Courfeyrac off the table and onto his lap. Courfeyrac straddles him as their tongue slide against each other and they pull apart gasping for air, still holding onto each other tightly.

"You should take your shirt off," Courfeyrac murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips. "So I don't feel underdressed."

Combeferre tugs at the hem of his shirt. "Sounds fair."

Courfeyrac helps him take it off and freezes as he sees the tattoos on Combeferre's torso. There's a fractal spiral tattooed over the centre of his chest, a moth and a nautilus shell underneath it and Courfeyrac reaches out to trace his fingers over the lines, making Combeferre chuckle.

"See?" Courfeyrac asks. "Most gorgeous person ever. With mathematical and science tattoos. I never stood a chance."

Laughing, Combeferre pulls him back down into a kiss. They wrap their arms around each other, kissing until they start rocking their hips against each other. Combeferre bites Courfeyrac's neck gently, making him moan, and pulls back with a small grin.

"I think we should move to my bed."

"I think so too," Courfeyrac agrees, getting to his feet and pulling Combeferre with him. 

They get their pants off by the time they collapse into Combeferre's bed in a mess of tangled limbs, kissing and grinding with their underwear still on. Combeferre has a preoccupation with biting Courfeyrac, who is all too happy to allow it, tipping his head back and baring his throat as he wraps his legs around Combeferre. 

"I really want to fuck you," Combeferre murmurs into Courfeyrac's ear, once they've both managed push their underwear down to their knees and are grinding against each other in earnest. 

"Yes please," Courfeyrac gasps, tightening his grip on Combeferre. "Maybe not right now, because I don't want _this_ to stop—"

"But soon," Combeferre promises, reaching between them to wrap his hand around both their cocks and pumping, kissing Courfeyrac's neck, over the bite marks he's left behind. 

Courfeyrac comes first, his fingers digging into Combeferre's back as he whimpers. Combeferre strokes him through it until he's oversensitive, then follows close behind with a low moan of Courfeyrac's name. They stay where they are for a moment, kissing lazily until they gradually pull apart.

"We're missing the battle of Helm's Deep," Courfeyrac murmurs, as the sounds from the TV drift over to Combeferre's room. 

"We'll skip back to it," Combeferre reassures him, kissing Courfeyrac again. "We should get cleaned up. My shower's big enough for both of us…"

They don't get back to the couch until the end of The Two Towers, and they get distracted through most of Return of the King, but neither of them particularly mind.

«·»

Courfeyrac gets the bird tattooed on his chest, in the same place that Combeferre drew it the first time. It's Combeferre's first coloured piece and the other artists in the studio are excited for them both. It's much more comfortable in the tattoo studio where Courfeyrac can sit back on the chair with Combeferre sitting beside him to do the tattoo. It's smaller than the piece on Courfeyrac's arm, so it takes less time and they keep catching each other's eye as Combeferre works, smiling fondly at each other.

They've been dating for three months now, and while Courfeyrac has never really thought that he'd need a relationship to be happy, he can't deny the fact that he's spent the past three months in an incredibly good mood. 

"You should be careful," Feuilly says, as Combeferre is wrapping the finished tattoo up. "Like Bahorel already told you, it's hard to stop getting tattoos once you start. You're already on three. If you're not careful, you'll end up with an entire sleeve. Or two. Pretty sure your boyfriend already has a few ideas of what might work."

"Does he, now?" Courfeyrac asks curiously.

"Your boyfriend is keeping his mouth shut until he's specifically asked about these kinds of things," Combeferre replies, leaning over to peck Courfeyrac on the lips. "I might have a few ideas, but that doesn't mean you need to get them, and we probably shouldn't be talking about it right after I've finished a tattoo anyway."

"Says the guy who got one of his sleeves done over two full days," Feuilly replies, shaking his head and laughing. "Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Bahorel and Jehan wanted you guys over for dinner sometime soon, when you're both free. Just let me know, okay? Bring Enjolras with you too."

"We will," Courfeyrac replies, waving as Feuilly gets back to work, greeting a client who has just walked in. 

"You know how to take care of this one," Combeferre says, as he carefully buttons Courfeyrac's shirt up for him. "But I'll run through it again, just in case."

"Like I don't spend every other night with you anyway," Courfeyrac snorts. 

"Still," Combeferre says patiently. He picks up an aftercare flyer and hands it to Courfeyrac. "This is part of the rules for a good reason."

"I know." Courfeyrac murmurs. He gives Combeferre a brief kiss. "I'm listening."

Combeferre's timed Courfeyrac's session so that it ends just before his lunch break. They go to get lunch together before Courfeyrac has to go home and work on an assignment for university. They to go a café nearby, holding hands the entire time. They've probably been dating long enough that this shouldn't still feel new and exciting, but Courfeyrac can't help it. He still smiles whenever Combeferre is the least bit affectionate with him. Combeferre keeps catching Courfeyrac watching him with a fond look but that doesn't matter so much, because Courfeyrac catches Combeferre doing the same. They part ways once Combeferre's lunch break is over with a long kiss and Courfeyrac grins the entire way home.

Enjolras is there when Courfeyrac lets himself into the apartment and looks up with an amused look. "So I take it that the tattoo session went well?"

"As it always does," Courfeyrac replies, still smiling. "Feuilly, Bahorel and Jehan have invited us over for dinner at some point, when we all have the time."

"That might take a bit of schedule shuffling," Enjolras replies, already humming in thought. "I should be able to work it if Feuilly can. I _did_ want to talk to him about making a sign for that rally we were planning to do. He said that he was going to discuss a few ideas with Grantaire too, because they both have a pretty good understanding of colour theory so they'll know how to put together a banner that really catches people's attention. I wouldn't even have thought of using one unless Bossuet brought it up, I still need to thank him for that."

Courfeyrac is struck with just how much he loves his life, and all the people in it. His smile widens and he walks over to Enjolras, hugging him tightly.

"I love you too," Enjolras says, resting his hands on Courfeyrac's arms. "What brought this on?"

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know, I just really love all of my friends."

"I know that," Enjolras replies. He pokes Courfeyrac's arm, where his tattoo is. "We all know that."

"I'm glad that you do," Courfeyrac says. "I'm really happy, you know? Not just because I'm dating Combeferre. I'm happy that I know everyone I know. I'm glad we see each other regularly, that we bounce ideas off each other and help each other be better people."

"Yeah." Enjolras tugs Courfeyrac down into the chair beside him so at least they can hug each other properly, careful not to touch his chest where his tattoo is still healing. "Me too. We have a good group of friends, don't we?"

"The best."

"And I'd just like to point out the fact that for the past few months, you haven't made any ill-advised bets with Bahorel. I think it's a new record, actually." Enjolras hums. "Although maybe I shouldn't have actually told you that."

"I'll win a bet against him one day, you mark my words," Courfeyrac tells him. "Doesn't have to be _right now_. Right now, I'm cuddling you."

"I'm perfectly okay with that," Enjolras replies, wrapping his arms around Courfeyrac a little tighter. 

Courfeyrac doesn't quite know what he's done to deserve this, but yeah. He's pretty damn happy with his life.

«·»

**• epilogue •**

It's four o'clock in the morning when Courfeyrac's alarm goes off and he quickly turns it off, sitting up in bed. Beside him, Combeferre sleeps on undisturbed and Courfeyrac sighs in relief, running his fingers through Combeferre's hair affectionately before carefully getting out of bed and getting dressed.

He's not a morning person at the best of times, but early shifts at the respite centre are a fact of life and it's nothing he can't deal with as long as he's had enough coffee. Combeferre's coffee maker is too loud to use without waking him up, but there's a café on the way to work that's open early, so Courfeyrac can get his coffee from there. 

They've been dating for a while now, but it's the first time that Courfeyrac's had to leave Combeferre's apartment early for work and he doesn't like the thought of just leaving without leaving a note behind. When he looks around, however, the only paper he can find is from Combeferre's sketchbook and he doesn't want to touch that. He settles for grabbing one of Combeferre's sharpies and walking back to the bed. 

Combeferre hums sleepily as Courfeyrac takes his hand and turns it over to write on the back of it. He writes, _Gone to work. Love you. x_ and immediately agonises over the second part. He's never said it to Combeferre aloud, but it's too late to take it back now. He presses a kiss to Combeferre's hair before getting his bag and leaving.

He doesn't get a reply until hours later, when he's successfully managed to stop dwelling on the note he left behind on Combeferre's hand. His phone buzzes and he makes sure that nobody needs his immediate attention before taking it out of his pocket and checking it. 

Combeferre's reply is a simple, _I love you too :) see you tonight_ , but it makes Courfeyrac beam. He holds his phone to his chest and takes a moment to allow himself to feel the sudden rush of happiness before he gets a handle on it, putting his phone away and getting back to work.

Losing that bet to Bahorel was probably the best thing he's ever done.


End file.
